ABC
by Archaeops
Summary: A fic for every letter of the alphabet!


A little fic for each letter of the alphabet. Tell me which little fic was your favourite! And also, give me prompts, and I will be more than happy to try and write a small fic for it.

Thank you so much again to OneWhoSitsWithTheTurtles as well as TinysaurusRex for being my utterly fantastic, patient and generally all round awesome beta reader, and for taking the time out to read all the stuff I send her. 3

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**A ** Alone – The mansion never felt the same again, after Erik and Raven left.

Raven; the only remaining part of his childhood, his family. Charles would wheel through the rooms, expecting his sister to be brushing her teeth in one of the many bathrooms, reading one of her fantasy novels in his study chair which she insisted was comfier than the one he had bought specially for her, or even in the kitchen, making him a hot chocolate, as she had offered to do so the very first time they had met. The professor missed the companionship of Erik. Raven had always been there, but Erik was a friend, an equal. Charles wasn't responsible for him. He missed their chess games, and their search for mutants. Charles enjoyed it. He would often find himself sitting in his wheelchair for hours in a corridor reminiscing about the past, before realising how dark it had become, or perhaps before Hank emerged from his lab to grab a biscuit. Whoever found him wouldn't comment out loud on his faraway look, but he would hear them anyway. Hank was often the one to discover him, sighing as he would shake his head. _That poor lonely man. He has nothing left._ No keeping secrets from telepaths, he would think, humourlessly. Even so, Charles couldn't help thinking how right Hank was.

**B**

Bullet – Among the neatly stacked piles of paper and books on the professor's desk was a small area, where upon sat a few small items, all of which carried some form of sentiment on Charles' behalf, and all of which were rubbish in anybody else's eyes. Charles hated throwing things away; it felt like throwing away a memory, a piece of a person he had known. Shining a brilliant blue against the chestnut table was a scale, rippling iridescently in the faint glow of sun that lit the room. This was one of Raven's, a scale that Charles had picked up when she had fallen over when they were younger. They had been running around in the garden, where she didn't have to hide, so when she fell, a few shining pieces of her blue scales tore from her knees. To Charles, they were both rarer and more valuable than gold. A deformed lump of plastic reminded the professor of the first time Alex had aimed true and hit the target mannequin, melting it and stinking out the room for a good day or two; a vial of green liquid that Hank had left for Raven – the only remnants of the chemical that the beast had otherwise destroyed; a shard of glass from the greenhouse Sean had smashed with his high pitched scream. And a bullet: the same one shot from Moira's gun. The bullet deflected by Erik's metal controlling powers. The bullet that paralysed Charles. He didn't like the small moulded metal, but it reminded him of the danger Erik had become to fulfil his dream, no matter the cost. It reminded him that even if he must forgive, he must not forget.

**C**

Checkmate – The chess set sat by the fireplace, where it had always been. Charles had moved his chair, however, so that he could wheel himself into the space in his wheelchair. Erik's chair was still there too, and sometimes he would play under the pretence that Erik was actually there. They had played enough games that the professor knew Erik's favourite moves, the predictable choices he would make. It didn't help that when Erik concentrated, he would broadcast his thoughts so loudly that Charles often knew exactly what he was about to do. Charles sits, smothered by the warmth of the fire, playing his lonely game night by night.

**D ** Drowning – Charles had always wondered what it would feel like to drown.

He thought he had felt it before, when saving Erik. The instinctive panic that flared from Erik's mind, coupled with a blanketed muffling of being too exhausted to resurface and _breathe_, due to his trying to lift Shaw's submarine. He had a new definition now, though. A sensation of acknowledged surrender to the loneliness, losing the will to live. Accepting the pain, letting it ebb into a dull throb in his chest. Some might call it heartache. Charles called it drowning.

**E **Elysium – Charles remembers the time in his life which had been perfect.

It was after his childhood. His family had gone, all except Raven. All dead. Although he should have been upset, he only felt freedom to search for the affection he needed. Charles had a future: He was smart and had just become a professor at Oxford, something of an achievement at his young age. He had, for the first time, friends: Erik, Raven, Moira, Hank, Sean and Alex. He had a purpose. Other than the further research into mutations, he was privileged enough to use state of the art technology in the form of Cerebro to track down other mutants. He had something to fight for, the independence and freedom of their evolved race.

Even though he still had his brains, he was old. Even though he now gave a home to new-found mutants, he had lost his friends, his _real_ family. Even though he still fought for the mutants, he had lost his own independence: he was a cripple. Even though he was content with life, he had lost his Elysium.

**F**

Frustration - Charles found life difficult at first, adapting to using a wheelchair, and losing Raven and Erik. He often found himself at the bottom of stairs, or catching the wheels whilst going round corridors. The professor could no longer reach the mug cupboard, and had to have a few selected ones on lower shelves. If the kettle was pushed too far back on the sideboard, he couldn't even make himself a coffee. His useless legs meant everyday routines posed constant obstacles: having showers, getting books off shelves, having to detour to the newly fitted lifts. Sometimes he would forget that he was crippled, and try to stand, sending a flame of pain down his spine, before it fizzled away as it reached his ruined coccyx. It frustrated him that food was too high in the fridge. He missed the little things that his friends used to do for him; Erik used to peel apples for him, by moving the peeler around it in one fluid movement. He missed not having freshly peeled apples.

**G ** Grey – _"Are you sure we can't shave your head?" **"Don't touch my hair." **_

Charles was more scared of his hair turning grey, than going completely bald. He wouldn't call it a relief when his hair started thinning, but he was glad that people would always remember his wavy brown locks for what they were. Gone, but not forgotten.

**H**

Hugs – Charles had always liked were comforting and safe, whether you were the one pressing your ear against their heartbeat, or smelling the soft scent of their hair. Still, Charles had never expected Erik to be a _hug_ man.

There was the first hug: That one hardly counted as a hug, really. It was just after Charles had shown the team to the X-Mansion. Smiling smugly, the Professor had looked up to the taller man, proud. Erik wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled Charles into his side. Pleasantly surprised, Charles chuckled, nuzzling his cheek against the fuzzy sweater that hid under Erik's leather jacket.

There were the cute hugs, where Charles would be engrossed in a book or baking in the kitchen in deep concentration. Erik was able to sneak up behind him, before wrapping long arms around his waist, pressing his stubble-coated cheek to Charles' white smooth one to watch what the telepath was doing.

There were the bear hugs, which Erik gave when he was insanely happy. He would grab the front of whatever Charles was wearing - be it one of his blue shirts or his cashmere pullover- before slamming their bodies together with an audible _whoomf!_ That knocked the wind out of Charles, leaving him frozen, stunned. Just as he would take a breath, Erik's hand would crash between his shoulder blades, as if he had timed it perfectly to leave Charles positively breathless.

There were –well, was - the one hug Erik had given Charles, whilst Charles was ill, sleeping and stuck in a nightmare. Erik, who needed less than six hours sleep had taken to wandering around the mansion late at night. Once, he heard a soft whimpering emanating from behind the professor's bedroom door. Erik gently pushed it open, peeking around the corner. Trembling beneath a pile of duvets was Charles, clammy with cold sweat. Erik rushed over, putting the back of his hand against the professor's cheek. It was freezing, even though he was swathed in blankets. Sighing, Erik pulled back the covers and slid in, wrapping his arms around the smaller man, forming a warm cocoon around him. Slowly, the shivering ceased, and the two drifted off into a safe dreamland.

In the morning, Charles woke up tangled in Erik's long limbs, much too hot, but feeling much better.

Then there was the last hug. Charles was lying in the sand, head on Erik's lap whilst the German held him protectively, rocking slightly.

"I want you by my side… We're brothers, you and I. All of us, together. Protecting each other. **We want the same thing**." Erik pressed, trying to get Charles to see the truth. "My friend, I'm sorry. But we do not." The professor stared at Erik, blue eyes in green. Erik gave a tiny nod, and Charles believed, then, that Erik would stay. That he **would** stay by his side. Then arms tightened around him, and Erik projected a focused mental message to Charles, a message powerful enough to penetrate the metal helmet. _I'm sorry Charles. Together, we could have been unstoppable._ The trembling arms released him, and Charles truly believed that would be the last time they would ever envelope him.

**I **

Insomnia – Charles couldn't sleep for days after Shaw's death, after Erik's departure. Every time his eyes closed, he felt the coin pressing against his forehead. He felt the sand beneath his hands, wet with his blood. He felt the safety of being held in Erik's arms, for the last time, before jerking awake in his cold, empty bed. The days he can sleep, he wakes up from nightmares, no less tired than he was when he went to sleep.

One night, he lies paralysed in his waking sleep, unable to free himself from reliving Shaw's murder. His eyes slowly peel open, and his body is trembling. It felt so _real._ Fat tears slide down onto his pillow as the professor stares at the ceiling, unable to shift anymore than his shoulders because of his damned legs. A figure in the corner of his eye catches his attention, and he doesn't care who it is, he just wants to be comforted, hugged. Unbelieving, he strains towards the man, reaching out with his hands as Erik walks closer, touching his signature woollen jumper. He clings to it, pulling it towards him, and presses his face into it. His eyes close, and he breathes in the familiar scent, whilst Erik gently rocks him, comforting him. It calms him, and his wracking sobs slow into occasional hiccoughs. Erik gently lowers Charles back under the duvet, sliding in with him, just to hold him. Mimicking the last time Erik was in his bed when Charles was ill, Charles rests against the taller man's chest, the German gently stroking his hair. Their breathing falls in sync as Charles slips into a dream-free world, for the first time since that fateful day, in the last hug he ever experiences.

Charles wakes the next morning, curled up under the duvet and refreshed for the first time in months. Erik is gone.

**J ** Jean – Jean's death came as a shock to everyone. Charles took the opportunity to cry for everything he ever needed to cry for. 

He cries for his parents. Even though they hadn't been the parents he had deserved, they had been his only parents. When they had died, he hadn't felt anything for them, but now he felt sorrow at how they had gone from his life, and guilt that he should have mourned for them. His throat constricts as he tries to stem the flow of tears, but they just fall more freely, until he relaxes and let them pour down his face, chest heaving.

He cries for Raven. The first one who had alerted him that there were others like him. The first one who he could be himself around. His first friend. The other mutants who had first joined him around Jean's grave had long gone back to the mansion, to give the professor some privacy with only Scott remaining.

He cries for Erik, his best friend who meaninglessly pursued the power to protect those he loved, left in cruel irony with no one to love or protect. Scott's tears had never fallen. Charles knew the feeling; Scott felt emptiness, disbelief and anger that Jean had been torn away from him, and guilt that he couldn't even cry for her. Charles cries for his legs, his useless legs as they rested under a blanket. Mutations were supposed to aid in survival. What use was telepathy against weapons of metal and gun powder? Even Scott had left, now. Under the moon, Charles sat in his chair, cold and crying. It was as if now he had started, he couldn't stop. His body wracked with the tears that had built up over the years. He held himself together with his arms as the next wave washed over him.

He cries for everybody else who had died, human or mutant. They didn't deserve to die. Even Senator Robert Kelly. Charles had felt death so many times in using Cerebro. People died all the time and the professor hated it when a bright spark of light projected on the wall of the dome blinked out of existence. With his mind linked to everyone's, he feels the last yelps of panic, every cry for help, every last heartbeat. Nobody left life thankful, but scared and helpless in the taking of their last breath.

He cries for Scott, who Charles knew would never be the same again. His once lively mind was sluggish and blank. It was almost worse than dying; it was as though a part of Scott had gone with Jean, leaving him in a zombie-like condition he would never be free from. Scott still had his whole life ahead of him, but would live it wondering restlessly, waiting for Jean to return.

Lastly, Charles cries for Jean. The beautiful young girl who didn't understand the full potential of her power, the girl who thought she was less than she was. But Charles respected her, and respected her decision to save everybody on the plane. She couldn't have done anything more. Calm seeped through Charles. He stopped shaking with tears, with the cold. He wiped away the streaks from his eyes, breathing deeply. Crunching on the gravel and a gentle touch of the mind alerts the professor to Scott's presence. Charles sends him a watery, sad smile which Scott tries to mimic, before the young man tugged Charles' blanket around him, and pushed him back towards the mansion.

**K ** Killer – Charles must never forget what Erik did. Who he is: a murderer. A killer. 

Charles has forgiven Erik for the physical damage done to him. What Charles cannot excuse is the way Erik believes that humans are not equal. That he can squash them like ants, just because he has the power to do so. He believes that in ridding the Earth of the human race, he is being_the better man_. No matter how many lives lost, the sacrifice is necessary for mutants to rise. Every day, Charles thinks about all the deaths, mutant and human. He does this to remind himself that Erik is no longer his best friend. He is one possessed with an idea for power. A dangerous, murderous killer. Charles accepts this. But he still misses him, and would have him back in a heartbeat.

**L **Love – Charles never thought of his friendship with Erik as anything more.

Charles thinks of all the times he tried to pick up girls at the bar; mostly unsuccessful. Raven always told him to change his pick up line: _It's a mutation. It's a very groovy mutation_. Although it had got a couple of people into his bed, Charles never thought anything more of it. He had never been in a meaningful relationship, ever loved anybody, or given a second thought to what love meant. Even when Erik came into his life nothing changed, or so he thought. They were close, closer than Charles had been to anyone, even Raven. Of course, Erik had allowed Charles to read his thoughts, so they were linked in that way. What Charles harboured was respect, care and understanding for Erik and his powers, and the professor realised and acknowledged that. But even with that knowledge, coupled with the heavy burden that weighed down his heart with every breath which everybody else recognised as heartache the professor never recognised that what they had ran deeper than friendship.

**M ** Mistletoe – The professor remembers his first proper Christmas.

Charles never looked forward to Christmas. His childhood Christmas always comprised of a huge Christmas tree and a beautiful feast, courtesy of the maids. His mother and father showered him with gifts, but that wasn't what Charles craved. He needed a _family _Christmas. He would have traded his bicycles for hugs and kisses, and all the board games for his mother to tuck him into bed. Meeting Erik, and all the other mutants, changed all that. The first Christmas they had together felt like Charles' first proper Christmas. A small Christmas tree sat in the corner of the dining room, with presents crammed beneath. Round the table sat Charles, Raven, Hank, Sean, Alex, Moira and Erik, who was carving the turkey, with the knife floating in mid air, of course. After eating the delicious meal and several glasses of wine, everyone was suitably tipsy for dancing. Charles, cheeks pink with alcohol, found that there was a fine line between tipsy and flat out drunk, when Erik grabbed his hands and pulled him into a clumsy dance. Charles was suddenly very aware of the hand burning against his hip, and that they were dancing extremely close. The music slowed, and Charles found himself rocking gently against Erik's shoulder. A chorus of whooping in the background made the professor flush even brighter as he lifted his head up – his hair brushed one of the dangling pieces of mistletoe the kids had helped hang up earlier when decorating the mansion. Rolling his eyes slightly, he looked at Erik. Erik was staring at him back, a shark-like grin plastered on his face. Erik moved too quickly for Charles to comprehend, and the professor suddenly found himself open eyed, staring at his best friend's eyebrows as his lips moved against Erik's. It was short and sweet, followed by a quiet mumble of, "Merry Christmas Charles."

If there was anything to regret, it was that Erik had been smashed that night and remembered nothing of it. Charles knew he didn't, because nobody could lie to a telepath.

**N ** Naked – There are only a couple of things that could render Charles speechless.

A naked Erik was one of them. There was only one way to make Charles blush beetroot red, and the professor was somewhat glad that Erik was the only one who knew. When Charles had first invited Erik to stay at the mansion, the bathrooms were being fixed and as time progressed, the two ended up sharing one bathroom. The system worked well; Erik would have a quick shower before Charles would go and have a long soak in the bath. That way, there was always hot water for both of them to use. It also meant that there would not be a repeat of the time when Charles had walked in on Erik stark naked, coming out of the shower, ready for a bath.

_"ERIK!" Charles spluttered, diverting his gaze and flushing deep red. Hastily, he backed out of the bathroom, just as Erik called after him, "What! There's nothing I have that you haven't got!" before laughing mirthfully as the professor turned tail and ran to use Raven's bathroom, which was thankfully free of any naked mutants._

After that incident, any time Erik wanted his way, he would just think hard about that incident, broadcasting it to Charles who would involuntarily flush and glare furiously at his friend, before going with his decision in order to make Erik shut up.

**O** Orange – Charles makes the most amazing orange-Madeira cakes.

Charles puts the piece of moist cake into his mouth. The fluffy texture of the freshly baked deliciousness sits in his mouth, the orange fragrance melting in the back of his throat. The professor wrinkles his nose, dissatisfied. _What did that damned man add to my cake…?_

_Charles had always made the best tasting cakes, with orange-madeira up top. That was, until Erik had come along and distracted him by floating his spoons across the kitchen. Watching whilst Charles had chased after his spoons in vain, Erik had sneakily thrown in one or two extra ingredients before quickly mixing it in. Charles hadn't known this and had shoved the cake in the oven, having shooed the cackling Metalbender away._

_The cake smelt different. Something new tickled in Charles' nostrils, something sweet…bitter…spicy? The combination was odd. Putting it down to something in the oven, the professor sliced up the cake, serving it to all the kids, Erik and himself._

_"God Charles! This cake is amazing!" Raven's eyes widened. Charles frowned: his sister had become bored of this recipe, since he had practiced it on her every night for a week before a school competition once. A similar awe was reflected in the other students' minds._

_"Well, thank you Raven." Charles nodded to her, before scooping up a small golden lump. He put it in his mouth. Unexpected flavour hit his tongue: Sweet, tangy, sour, bitter, spicy, butter. It was like a firework exploded in his mouth. He frowned, staring at the cake._

_"God, what did I put in" – then the professor caught Erik's grin, green eyes sparkling like a cats._

Charles scrapes the rest of the cake onto a growing mountain of cake that sat on a large plate in the middle of the table, where a few students were eagerly scooping chunks into their mouths.

Charles wheels back over to the worktop, where more ingredients sat. Crushed vanilla pods; orange, lemon and lime rind; grated chocolate; nutmeg; ground almonds; chopped hazelnuts; half a slab of marzipan; flakes of coconut and carrot; ground coffee; cinnamon powder; sliced ginger; and many more additions that Charles wanted to experiment with.

The professor stared forlornly at the ingredients. There were _thousands_ of different mixtures Erik could have dumped in his cake mix.

Suddenly, a spoon rose from the tabletop, scooping up half a teaspoon's worth of cinnamon. The spoon tipped its contents into the mixing bowl before scraping up another half a teaspoon of sliced ginger, as well as the orange rind. A knife whizzed dangerously past Charles and across the room, where a chilli lay, discarded next to other vegetables. The knife sliced through the chilli before spearing it and flying back across to the mixing bowl. It carelessly chopped through the chilli until it was mush on the sideboard, before flicking the juice from the chilli into the mixing bowl and falling back onto the worktop. Charles looks round: The kids are still tucking in, unaware that anything unusual just happened.

A familiar voice echoed in Charles' head: _It's our little secret._ Charles looked through the window and across the hill, where Erik was walking away, cape flapping in the wind, helmet firmly put back in place.

**P ** Prize – Charles goes back to Oxford to collect a prize for his work on genetic mutations.

The clapping is deafening as Charles steps up to the stage to collect his award. After a quick handshake and a sharing of nods between himself and the prize giver, a glass plaque is handed to him. The weight of the trophy is comforting in his handS and relaxes him as he takes a deep breath before moving to the podium to deliver his speech of thanks.

"…And I really couldn't have done it without"- midway through his speech, he notices a familiar presence pressing against his mind. Shaking his head slightly, he looks down at his speech, written out to help jog his memory.

Mentioning a list of names, he waves towards his helpers, sitting in the front row of the audience. More cheers and applause follow, hiding his shock as the familiar conscience presses more heavily down against his own. He recognises it now. Erik. Looking around, Charles notices in the far corner of the theatre, a man was leaning against the door frame, unnoticed by everyone else. A dome shaped shadow was tucked under one arm: Shaw's helmet. The clapping reduces in intensity, and Charles looks round wildly before quickly finishing his thanks and flashing a smile to the crowd. This gets them going once more as he heads off stage. Looking up at the fire exit where Erik had been standing, Charles squints to find the figure. It had gone. Focussing on Erik's fading conscience, he sends a private broadcast to him. _Thank you. Thank you for coming. It means the world. Thank you._ Charles repeats this over and over again, until he left the building, hoping against all hope that perhaps Erik would hear him.

**Q** Quilt – On the first night back from the hospital, Charles returns home to find his quilt, neatly folded on his bed as it always was. He remembers the time when he was ill, and Erik had to look after him.

_Charles had a fever. He was shivering with cold, even though Erik had wrapped him in all the blankets that were in the house. Squeezing the German's hands in his own freezing ones, Charles muttered about another blanket, a quilt in his cupboard. Erik, wanting to both sweat the fever out and keep Charles comfortable, pulled his hands away to search the cupboard. Charles whimpered slightly at the loss, tucking his hands under his armpits to try and warm them up. Across the room, Erik scrabbled around for anything resembling a quilt – and dug up a blue, patchy, homemade looking thing. He raised an eyebrow, and held it up for Charles to see. The professor felt his cheeks flush, and he nodded. Erik bought it over and insisted Charles told him what it was. Propping himself up, Erik sat beside him on the bed as he leaned against his pillows._

_"It's the family quilt." Charles began, smoothing it out on his legs. "Each female member is supposed to contribute a patch sometime in their life. I wanted to as well - but my father hated the idea of his son doing something meant for girls. 'Sewing is a woman's job, Charles. Are you a woman? No.'" Charles sighed, running his fingers over a particular patch. It was simple; a large X on a plain background. "I had watched my nanny sew, but never tried it before myself. I figured an easy patch would suffice; X for Xavier." He smiled at Erik, before yawning. Erik pushed him back down under the covers, thanking him for sharing the story. Clutching the quilt and insisting to Erik that he definitely felt warmer now, he snuggled under the multiple duvets and slowly drifted off, the sounds of Erik's soothing conscience lulling him to sleep._

**R** Raven – Charles often found himself thinking about Raven.

After all, she was his sister. He hadn't seen her since the day she had left – but he knows it is too late to make amends. _Charles was writing. Raven was standing behind him, getting ready for bed. "Would you date me?" Charles smiles to himself slightly, "Of course I would. Any young man would be lucky to have you. You are stunning." He had expected the conversation to end there. After all, he had given a suitably complimentary answer; and he was busy, and he knew **she** knew this. Then – "Looking like this?" Charles sighed to himself, putting down the pen. "Like…What? Blue?" He had looked up, expecting to see the blonde beauty she normally was, but saw the red-haired, blue-scaled woman frowning at him somewhat. Slightly shocked, he tried to avoid the question, but even still Raven wanted an answer. "Well?" Charles sighed again, more loudly. "I am incapable of thinking of you that way. I feel responsible for you. Anything else would just feel wrong." "But what if you didn't know me?" His sister persisted. "Unfortunately, I do know you. God, I don't know what's gotten into you lately. You're awfully concerned with your looks."_

Although remembered fondly, a small guilty weight from the memory still sits in the bottom of the professor's stomach. The scene in Charles' mind shifts. _Raven came in blue, and very naked that night. "Yaah! God's sake Raven. Where are your clothes? Pu…put some clothes on!" he spluttered, embarrassed as he tried to hide his face in the fridge. After more arguing, Raven left in an angry huff, leaving Charles confused and upset. _Charles just wishes they hadn't gone their separate ways like that. And it_ is_ too late, now.

**S **Search – Charles is constantly tempted to use Cerebro to find Erik, but he knows it will only lead to disappointment.

The big dome Cerebro is situated in becomes used as often as Charles' study. He constantly searches for new mutants, bright red sparks of life that fill him with excitement and awe at what talent they might have. He uses Cerebro to find anyone: close by, far away, before sending Scott and Ororo out to contact them. One thing he is determined never to do is to track Erik. Even though he knows that the majority of the time he wouldn't be able to hunt down the metalbender because of that damned helmet, Charles knows there are times when Erik negates to wear it. Unable to tear down his pride, Charles refuses to actively look for his best friend, deciding it would be better for the both of them if they just continued to pursue their goals alone. What the professor doesn't realise is that when Erik can, he stands on the edges of the Xavier grounds, staring at the mansion that he once called home. Charles ignores the faint echoes of Erik's familiar conscience brushing against his own, and puts it down to his own desire to see his friend once more.

**T** Turtleneck – Charles finds Erik's jumper in the wardrobe as he's cleaning out.

Charles was sifting through the closet again when he came across a soft, black jumper. One of Erik's turtlenecks. Holding on to the shoulders, he lifted it up and shook it out so it was straight. It was too large for himself to wear – but had fitted Erik perfectly. Sighing against the heavy weight tugging down his heart, Charles brought the jumper up to rub his cheek against the fabric. A lump caught in his throat, as the reassuring and familiar smell of Erik lingered in the material. Bringing down his hands, he let the jumper crumple on his knees, before it slid off and fell to the floor with a small muffled thump. Bending down to reach it, he could only just stroke the jumper with his fingertips – the wheelchair he was in restricted further movement. Small sobs threatened to break out, and his eyes pricked in frustration as he stretched to pick it up. One stretch too far had the professor toppling out of his wheelchair, onto his knees which did nothing to support him, and onto his chest which pressed the jumper against the carpet. Abandoning his dignity, Charles hugged the jumper close and allowed the flow of tears freedom as he wept for his lost friend.

**U** Unf: Charles tries to remember what it was so important about June the 9th.

June the 9th. What was important about June the 9th? Charles frowns, deep lines etching on his forehead. Something important…

_"Chaarlllsshhh…" Erik staggered towards the professor, who had just pulled his drinking-out-of-some-crazily-long-chemical-flask to the kids and was equally intoxicated. A half-eaten cake sat, ignored, on the dining table surrounded by various bottles of drink._

_"Chaarrllsshh, it's my… my **birthday**" Erik grinned wolfishly, and Charles grinned back._

_"I know it is," Charles replied, tapping his gin and tonic lightly against Erik's whiskey glass._

_"You know what I have…every year for my birthday?" Erik's grin grew wider, and Charles could almost see all his teeth. "Sex. Makes everything so much better."_

_Charles raised an eyebrow. Erik was definitely drunk._

_"And Charles…I haven't had any yet" Erik swayed on the spot, still grinning like a mad man, his green eyes not quite in focus._

_"Erikkkk…you're veeeerrryyy drunk…" Charles leant forwards, meaning to talk sincerely but the drink just made him slur as he smiled back foolishly. He tried to focus on Erik, but the familiar cloud of drunkenness had already settled over his eyes._

_"If **I'm** drunk, what does that make you?" Erik leant back against the sofa, where Hank was sleeping, a bottle hovering dangerously above the carpet, held weakly in his hand. His head was in Raven's lap, who was also dozing off with her fingers entwined in the genius' light brown hair. Raven. Charles shook his head slightly._

_"No, no, n-n-n-n-nuh uh. Not Raven." Charles shifted his gin to free his index finger and wave it at Erik._

_"Ohhhh… you're thinking I want your pretty blue sister?" Erik scoffed._

_ Charles looked at Erik, quizzically, his red lips opening slightly._

_"Erik… you're very intoxi…intox…drunk…" Charles said, blearily, lifting up his glass to drink. It was all gone. He frowned at the bottom of the glass._

_"Yessss I knowww Charlshhhh… that's what it's suppo-o-osed to be liiike," Erik stressed the syllables, almost frustrated with how Charles wasn't understanding him._

_"It's supposed to be just sex, just pure, raw instinct and animal… no emotions. Not something you do with… a virgin." He went quiet for a moment, letting it sink it._

_"I'll get you another gin and tonic? Come on…" he encouraged. Charles tried to blink away his astonishment, which was already deadened, along with most of the rest of his senses. He scowled slightly - Why was he even contemplating the idea of…_

_The thought died in his mind as he eyed Erik's hungry expression on that devilishly handsome face._

_"You'd better get me that gin and tonic." Charles reciprocated._

_ Erik crossed the distance from the sofa to the dining table where Charles was standing in two long strides before grabbing Charles' head in his calloused hands and pulling them together. Charles responding enthusiastically to what could only be described as smashing their faces together in a rough kiss._

_Erik curved his neck down, attacking Charles' mouth ferociously, forcing it open with his tongue. His fingers had already deftly unbuttoned the top of the professor's blue shirt before his lips swiftly dropped and began ravaging that pale neck._

_Charles was in no better state as he let his mind fog over, instinctively reaching up to nibble the scruff at the German's neck, one hand twisting in short dark hair, the other pushing at Erik's hip as he tried to keep the man from knocking him into the table and fucking him there and then. As Erik moved down to his collarbone, Charles pulled up the hem of the metalbenders' dark pullover, his fingers brilliant white against the black material, but stopped as he felt Erik's chest pressing down on his own, and his back getting closer and closer to the wooden table._

_"Erik…" he groaned, using his hands to push at Erik's head._

_ERIK..! he projected, his breaths steadying as Erik lifted his head to look at him. His eyes were almost black, pupils dilated like an oil spill spreading across the sea of green._

_"…What…" he growled, his voice like hot gravel._

_"A room…we need to get a room…" Charles groaned again, as Erik busied himself with undoing more buttons with his sinfully skilled mouth. Then large hands swept Charles up, one at the base of his skull, the other behind his knees, collecting him together. The professor looped his arms around Erik's neck, pulling him into another lip-crushing kiss._

_Erik stopped to look at the man in his arms: Charles' half lidded eyes were clouded with alcohol, his lips were bright and swollen from all that damned kissing…_

_By the time they had reached the closest room with a bed and a lock, Charles was clinging onto Erik, chest to chest. The door swung closed with a bang, and the metal lock turned with a definite click._

_Charles woke up in his bedroom, warm and… naked. He frowned, but stopped immediately, moaning loudly as the hangover woke with him, drilling into his brain and thudding with every heartbeat._

_It was very annoying, Charles decided, to be a telepath, when everybody's headache is projected into your own head._

_Charles grunted in reply to a gentle knock on the door, before it swung open. Erik came in, holding a glass of something in his hand._

_"What…happened last night?" Charles slurred, running his thick tongue over fuzzy teeth. Ew._

_"It was… my birthday." Erik nodded._

_"And you don't have a headache because…" Charles asked, through gritted teeth._

_"Because I'm German, and because I didn't pull a stupid party trick where I chugged down a flask of alcohol," Erik chuckled._

_"Urghhh… I passed out, didn't I? I haven't done **that** before…"_

_"Passed out? What you – you don't remember anything from last night?" Charles grimaced as Erik slid open the curtains, letting the afternoon sunbeams light up the dust motes._

_"No, not after drinking all that. I must've been smashed… urghhh…you know, fff…" Charles wiggled his fingers, miming memories rushing out of his head._

_"..Whassat?" Charles indicated towards the glass that Erik was holding._

_"Gin – er.. just some water." Erik corrected himself, glancing at the clear liquid._

_"Close the curtains Erik…I'm going back to sleep. And remind me never to do that bloody trick again…" Groaning for the last time, the professor rolled over in his blankets, leaving Erik to pull the curtains closed before walking out, closing the door gently and leaving a slight whiff of gin and tonic in his wake._

The professor smiled, wondering what exactly _had_ happened, before brushing that thought away. Yes. He must have passed out, and then Erik put him back in bed. Even now Charles flushed slightly, imaging what he must have done to end up there naked, before reaching into his drawer to pull out a birthday card for his oldest friend.

**V** Valentines– Charles received a Valentines card and a bunch of flowers.

_Dear Charles,_

_ Azazel is Red, Raven is Blue, even though we're gone, we still miss you._

_ Love, Raven._

_ P.S. Erik loves you too; he's just too much of an idiot to admit it._

Warmth blossoms in the professor's chest. He had forgotten it was St. Valentine's day, and receiving the card and flowers meant more to him than Erik or Raven knew. It meant they still remembered, still cared, even after all they had been through.

(Credit to: LucentPetrichor for the added 'P.S.' at the end of the note.)

**W ** Wounded - Charles would often wake up in cold sweat on the nights he couldn't sleep.

A visit to the worst day of his life would come frequently in his dreams. _Shaw was frozen. It was partly to show Erik that he was defenceless, unable to save himself, just like his mother. To show him he **had** to be the better man. It was also to try to communicate to Erik, since he had shut himself off. The instant Erik put the helmet on his head, the familiar stream of stray thoughts and echoes that emanated from him ceased. The connection had been severed. Not only physically in the form of thoughts, but their once strong friendship, riddled through with opposing beliefs. In the end, they were just too different._

_Charles could see through Shaw's eyes as the coin moved agonizingly slowly towards his forehead. The first touch of the cold metal was like a static shock. The coin stopped, and Charles tensed in anticipation, his stomach in his throat. With a firm push, the coin eased into his skin, the skin in Charles' own forehead burned together with Shaw's; a fire seared where the metal brushed ruthlessly across sensitive nerve-endings. Charles tasted iron in his mouth as he screamed his throat raw, blood pounding in his ears. Relief. Relief as the coin passed through bone and brain tissue, where there were no sensations of pain. Even so, a dizzying combination of ringing ears and a throbbing headache had Charles heaving, and struggling to stay on his feet. A pushing sensation in the back of his head warned of the coin's exit. Bracing himself, the professor gritted his teeth, before yet another scream tore from his body as the coin was finally extracted from Shaw's, and his own, head, before tumbling to the floor. _And Charles' eyes would snap open, before he could release the breath he found he would be holding.

**X**

X-men - Charles often forgot that was what they were. His students, Erik, himself – and all those other mutants out there. That was what the entire academy was about. People who had a mutated gene. An 'X' gene. The academy was there to spare those from his own unsupported childhood, yet his sanctuary had cost Charles his legs, leaving him crippled. His dream had cost him Erik. And Erik… the man who fought never to be helpless to defend that which he loved. His quest left him with nothing left to fight for. Charles could never stop thinking that together, perhaps one of their desires would be fulfilled. Apart, they only succeeded in half a dream.

**Y**

You – Charles knows his end is coming soon, so he tries to write a letter to Erik, leaving it at one of the chess sites they occasionally used. Erik reads it.

A letter is in the sliding drawer of the chess sets in the park. Picking it up with his old, wrinkled hands, Erik turns it over. 'Erik' it says, in neat, Oxford handwriting. Charles. The last few letters Erik had received over the course of the last thirty years all had 'Magneto' printed on the front. The German knew, then, that it was a personal letter, addressed to him as a friend, and not as a colleague. Hands trembling slightly, he peels open the letter. His stomach lurches slightly as his eyes skim down the uncharacteristic mess on the paper, down to the bottom where Charles signed his name. The last time he ever would.

Erik starts reading.

_Dear Erik,_

_Haven't you killed enough? When is this going to end?_

_You might think it started with Shaw, but it started with you breaking something much more fragile, something much more important. You broke the link between us, the trust, the loyalty, when you first forced that metal shield over your conscience. You've killed countless people, both mutants and humans. It's enough. Be the better man Erik, I've told you before: must I tell you again? You said so yourself, you did. You **want** to be the better man, you **want **to make the World a better place. Killing does **not** and never will bring anyone peace. You of all people should know that. You're creating a war, a war you cannot be victorious in alone. Stop trying to fight, when there is nothing to fight against. You will be left with nothing to fight for if you do. Erik, I'm telling you, you shouldn't do this._

_I still miss you, you know. You, Raven… All the kids miss you too. I say kids – Hank's moved on to government services; Alex and Sean have left too. I've got some new ones though, new students flocking in. I know you'll say I'm trying to corrupt them, control them. I'm just teaching them to control themselves, that's all Erik._

_You can still come back, you know, have a place to call home._

_I miss you. Always have, always will._

_Best of luck,_

_Charles_

Erik feels something burn in his chest. At first, he mistakes it for sorrow and guilt, as he feels tears smouldering behind his eyes. Then, he realises it is anger. Furious, blazing anger, that Charles, even in his death, still tries to _guilt_ him into ending his dreams. Clenching his fist, he crushes the last taunt from Charles, before letting the wind tear it from his grasp. Slowly, the burning spreads down his muscles and into his arms. He hasn't felt anything like this since he was young, before he destroyed Shaw, before he met Charles – yes, it reminded him of when Shaw killed his mother. The pain of clenched muscles quivering only intensified the fire in his fingers as he stretched them towards the black king.

Suddenly, the king moved. The anger dissipated. And Erik breathed.

[Dear Erik,

What happened?

I love you. -creys-

Love moe!Charles.

(Credit to: LucentPetrichor for the moe!Charles note)]

**Z** Zero – There was nothing left.

The moment she touched Charles' mind, he knew Jean was gone. The power that overwhelmed him was more than anything the professor could possibly have imagined. He felt miniscule, under the girl who rose from death, the Phoenix. He knew he had lost. _"You've always held her back!" "For your own good, Jean." _Was it though; was it really for her own good? The truth of it was that he had accomplished nothing. Shaw's plans were still alive, in Magneto. Not Erik; the man he once knew, his best friend, was also gone. And even as he rose out of his chair, under the Phoenix's uncontrolled power, Charles realised he had nothing left. No one left. The skin peeled back from his fingertips, burning slightly. The professor knew he was going to die, and he was scared. He didn't want to die with these lonely thoughts ringing in his head, but it was true. He had nothing. Zilch. Zero.


End file.
